


A Scar For A Lifetime

by Jamaican Princess (Rocquellan)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, POV Outsider, Weechesters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-15
Updated: 2013-09-15
Packaged: 2017-12-26 17:03:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/968381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rocquellan/pseuds/Jamaican%20Princess
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ellen meets John and his kids for the first time at the roadhouse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Scar For A Lifetime

**Author's Note:**

> Just a short story I cooked up revolving around Ellen and the boys. Enjoy and comment/kudos, thanks! :)

Ellen had seen many things in her years spent inside the Roadhouse. Hunters from all walks of life graced those doors at some point or another, needing either information, oblivion or a nights rest. The bar was a key point in a lot of hunter’s journey and it was also her and her husband, Bill’s pride and joy. Now, it kept her occupied because Joanna-Beth just turned six months old and there was nothing to soften a seasoned hunter like a new-born baby. Family. Ever since Bill found out she was pregnant she couldn’t even take a bath without the man fussing. Now, she was relegated to behind the bar (once he was around), so she could be out of harms way if needs be. 

With her shotgun, of course.

Smiling while cleaning a glass with a dish rag in the early hours of the morning, she looked over to her husband who sat in a quiet corner going over his journal, making notes and tunneling on the hunt in that telltale way she was use to. Jo was still asleep and she thanked heaven for that. Her baby can be quite fussy when she was ready.

The bar wasn’t set to be open until another few hours, so it came as a surprise when there was a single rap on the door. She watched with no small amount of curiosity as Bill got up without preamble and went right up and opened the door. She knew when her husband was meeting other hunters, could tell by the familiar way they greeted each other. The voice of the person on the other side of the door was deep and when the man stepped inside, she inclined her head in way of greeting. Her half smile faltered when a young kid and a baby haphazardly trailed in beside the man, hands held tight in each others.

“Howdy,” the man reciprocated.

“Morning,” the little boy piped up, hair cut short while the baby had wild, curly, dark-brown hair on his head and huge, curious hazel eyes, following the other kid like he wasn’t sure if he was to go forward, sideways or back.

“Morning, sugar,” she answered the kid, motherly instinct spiking like an EMF metre around ghosts.

“They your boys, the ones you told me about?” Bill asked and she listened keenly for the answer the man would give.

“Yeah, little Sam and Dean.” 

His eyes were warm and affectionate with a splatter of the haunting that brought most hunters into the life. Dean’s hair was ruffled and Ellen wondered what kind of fool-hardy man would take his _babies_ on hunts with him. She knew because Bill told her and she didn’t want to believe it. But looking at John Winchester, the hard planes of his face and his rigid posture, she knew there was no stopping this man if that was what he wanted to do. 

There was no stopping any of them. She tried.

Ellen knew she would gut her husband if he so much as utter the word ghost to their daughter.

She wiped down the counter while keeping an eye on the group as they sat. John was facing the door along with Bill while the kids were facing him. Then, the man took out a worn leather journal and put it between him and Bill before opening it, pointing to something written on the page as they started to converse in voices low enough to be considered hushed whispers.

Can never be too careful; the first rule of hunting. She could be possessed for all they knew, no matter how many times Bill made her drink holy water or recite latin on principle.

Ellen then watched the kids. She didn’t even look to see which glass she was grabbing from under the counter with the way those two kids just melted her heart. Really cute and well behaved. At least Sam was, up to a point. He started fidgeting in his brother’s hold about a minute later, looking around like he was scouting for trouble and Dean kept a firm grip on Sam’s right hand, the one beside him while Sam’s huge eyes swept the room for potential anarchy. He didn’t want to sit still, and which healthy two year old would? On a tray she stacked two bottles of beer a cup of milk and a fruit juice tetra pack with a straw for little Sam. She snorted when Sam’s chubby hand shot out and grabbed the edge of the journal, pulling it back and startling the two men who were reading it. Then John pulled it back from his youngest, a restrained scowl on his face.

Dean’s eyes were fretfully wide.

“Daddy. No,” Sam whined, voice baby smooth and determined for a two year old.

“Dean, make sure Sammy stays quiet.” John’s voice was low but firm and Dean nodded before hugging his baby brother to his side.

That made Ellen pause. What was the man expecting from a baby? And why was he being so hard on Dean, who was a baby himself? She separated the milk and juice from the beers before looking up with a smile on her face, feeling the need to intervene and diffuse the situation, if even for her own sake... 

“Hey there, Dean, right? Why don’t you and your brother come over here for something to drink while your father works?”

All four pairs of eyes regarded her when she spoke, but then Dean looked hopefully up to his father before the man nodded, the relief evident on his face.

The boy didn’t trust strangers, that was very good.

“Come on, Sammy,” Dean piped up, gently pushing his brother to stand before getting up himself, never relinquishing the hold he kept on one of Sam’s hand the entire time.

“Dee,” the baby mouthed, snatching his hand away and taking off as soon as he spotted the drinks, cold and inviting.

“Sammy, wait!” Dean cried out, footfalls hurrying to catch his little brother.

Ellen smiled, stepped from around the bar and snatched the kid up before he could barrel into the too high bar stool. She swung him on her hip before touching his nose playfully with the tip of her index finger. “Hey there, little guy. Want some juice?”

“M’lk,” Sam whined, ignoring her but staying rigid in her arms. Most kids would fight tooth and nail to get what they wanted, but this baby was making his needs known while being reserved.

“No, milk is for Dean, juice is for you,” she smiled before grabbing the box juice and handing it to the baby, who surprised her by reaching back and handing it to his brother, who stood apprehensively beside them, his green eyes wide and frightened.

Her eyebrows knitted at the pensive look on the kid’s face. He was just six years old, too young to have the expression of a man with the world on his shoulders. “Are you alright, Sugar?”

The juice was set on the nearest bar stool. Dean held her gaze firmly when he said, “Put Sammy down, you’re not my mommy.”

“Dean!” John barked from across the room and both babies flinched. Sam turned to Dean and Dean turned to John. “That’s no way to talk to a lady, now apologise.”

Dean then turned to her with watery green eyes before sniffling out, “M’ sorry.”

“It’s alright, honey.” She patted his head fondly. “You’re just looking out for your brother.” She smiled what she hoped was sweetly at him. It broke Ellen’s heart to hear the kid talk like that, it really did. Especially since she’d heard through the grapevine about how John Winchester came to be in the life. It was never pretty for anybody that walked through her bar doors with a weapon intent to kill evil, and maybe worse for a kid who lost his mother to the unknown. She exhaled a deep breath before smiling at the kid disarmingly, then she asked, “Does it make you feel uncomfortable that I’m holding your little brother?”

Dean nodded his head fervently, then he reached both arms up and fisted his fingers expectantly, so she lowered little Sammy into his brother’s arms. Sam, on the other hand, had a mighty problem with being kept from his treat. He started pushing on Dean’s chest and making fussy noises. She grabbed the box juice again and handed it to the little guy.

Sam tried to pass it off to his brother again, eyeing the milk grouchily.

“Sammy, no, this ‘s yours,” Dean said with a shake of his head, reluctant to take the juice even though he had his fingers around it.

“Dee, m’lk,” Sam whined and the look on the six year old’s face was hopelessly resigned, even though it was obvious he wanted the milk for himself. Nobody wanted juice, but Dean would sacrifice his needs for little Sammy’s and Ellen decided on a compromise once again.

“Hey, look, I’ll give both milk, how does that sound?” She just couldn’t give Sam a glass like Dean, so she needed time to prepare Sam’s milk and she knew from experience it wasn’t good to give one and leave out the other.

Dean was quite while Sam stuck a finger in his mouth, then he lowered the side of his face to his brother’s shoulder while the other hand hugged around the boy’s neck. 

“Ok,” Dean answered.

“Now, go have a seat over there. She pointed to a single table with two rows of seat that had a high chair beside it, because a few people passed through needing a bathroom break or changing station and the high chair was mostly left around back, but she brought it inside the bar during closing hours.

The milk was served, so was the beer and a moment later little Joanna-Beth had to make her presence known.

“Alright there, Ellen?” Bill asked from across the bar when she re-emerged with Jo in her arms and she smiled at him, nodding her head.

“We’re fine, she just needs a bottle.”

“B’by.”

It was Sam, and Ellen looked to see the toddler grinning while his brother kept his head firmly away from them, looking the other way studiously. She never knew she could feel so self conscious in her own establishment, but she did and it’s because she knew Dean understood. Jo had a mother, he didn’t. Not anymore.

The aversion on John’s face wasn’t any better, and just as worrisome.

She grabbed what she came for, then she awkwardly said, “I’m going back around to the house, she’s hungry.”

The ‘happy family’ persona wasn’t doing any of the Winchesters any good at the moment. Raw, fresh wounds could take up to a lifetime to heal. 

"Fine, I'll be back there as soon as I'm done," Bill answered and she nodded. In hunter talk that meant she might not see him for hours. Or even days if they caught a lead.

Taking off, she decided to leave John and his kids alone in the roadhouse and spend time with her own daughter. Who knew if one day Jo or her wouldn't have her own lifetime scar to deal with?

Such is the life of a hunter.


End file.
